


if i burn

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9618473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: He had gripped her hands so tightly, the small bushel of winter roses he had picked for her held tightly in her free hand, as thought Sansa had hoped that if she did not let go, he would not leave her.“You should stay.” She repeated.He was warm against her as they embraced, their bodies both so awkward and ingrown. “I must.” He said. She could feel his jaw moving against her temple, his lips brushing against her cheek lightly, the blush that filled her face hot against his skin. “I’ve got to…You deserve a Lord or a Prince. Not a bastard.”// written forjonxsansafanfiction's15 days of valentine's day celebration





	

**Author's Note:**

> I also made an _[accompanying graphic](http://manbunjon.tumblr.com/post/156943470355)_ for this fic!

The city crumbled beneath her, the tinny vibrations of stone on stone rattling through her bones. She could hear the screams and cries of battling knights, the grating clatter of swords just below her as she looked out through the bars of the wide window. Sansa had been imprisoned late into the night, dragged into the chamber by a masked knight who tossed her down with nothing but a crust of hard, stale bread and a slab of grisly meat on a dented china plate.

With a belly full of bread softened with bitter wine she had used the plate to try and dislodge the bars from the head of the window. She would not be taken by another enemy’s army. Not again. If need be she would throw herself from the high tower and know freedom if just for a moment.

A loud screech filled the air, accompanied by a thousand howling knights. Sansa looked to the skies, catching sight once more of the dragons that filled the sky with bolts of crimson flame. Half the city had already been engulfed, from the charred remains Cersei had left of the Great Sept of Baelor to the burning surface of Blackwater Bay, the fire so hot not even water could extinguish it.

The Lannister ships had been burned to ash at the start of the battle, keeping any ships from escaping with news of the sack. Next had come the battlements, where crimson garbed knights had been burned alive like meat being roasted on spits.

Sansa had heard rumors of the Dragon Queen for years, Joffrey’s obsession with the woman passing to his younger brother after his death. And after the Kitten King had plummeted from the Red Keep’s window Cersei had become all the madder, the Mad King incarnate, her ear to the earth for any news of Daenerys’ armies that may have infiltrated the city.

To combat the silver queen’s approaching armies Cersei had burned down everything she could get her hands on, sending caches of billowing green wildfire exploding across the city, demolishing not only the enemy queen’s armies but her own people. Sansa had been able to hear the screams even from miles away.

In the back of her mind she had hoped Jon would have come for her. She had dreamed of him, tall and gallant, dressed in the black garb of a man of the Knight’s Watch, his sword outstretched and pointed at Cersei’s vile throat. But she knew it had been a fantasy, just another naïveté of a girl who dreamed that the wolves of Winterfell would be together once more.

Even now, even in the midst of a siege large enough to consume the largest city in Westeros, she could remember the day Jon had departed from Winterfell. He had gripped her hands so tightly, the small bushel of winter roses he had picked for her held tightly in her free hand, as thought Sansa had hoped that if she did not let go, he would not leave her.

“You should stay.” She repeated.

He was warm against her as they embraced, their bodies both so awkward and ingrown. “I must.” He said. She could feel his jaw moving against her temple, his lips brushing against her cheek lightly, the blush that filled her face hot against his skin. “I’ve got to…You deserve a Lord or a Prince. Not a bastard.”

“You’re not a bastard.” She countered, looking at him firmly, bristling. “Not to me.”

He had smiled at her. “I have got to make something of myself, San.”

“And when you do?”

“I’ll come back to you.” He promised, dropping his head. Their kiss was chaste and soft, as inexperienced as that of any young maiden.

“Promise me.” she insisted, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.

“I promise.”

Sansa had held him to it, for years after they had parted from Winterfell. Even when she had been taken captive by the Lannister’s she had hoped that Jon would join her brother’s army and they would come for her. But Robb was killed and Jon still at the Wall. And Sansa had given up hope.

It was hours before the siege was lifted, the Lannister army dwindling from a wave of crimson to a spot of blood among a fire strew canvas. It was not long after that the remaining knights threw down their swords and accepted defeat, Dany’s army dragging Cersei into the Throne Room from where she had hidden in the catacombs beneath the city.

By the time Sansa was found and freed from the locked chamber the lioness had long ago been imprisoned, stripped of her crown and her titles and finery and locked into the Black Cells where she had once kept Lord Eddard Stark. It gave Sansa a sick pleasure to think of such an irony.

Sansa stood back as the Dragon Queen’s army filed in and out of the chamber and the silver haired woman took her seat upon the Iron Throne, fawned over by those remaining royals who had not fled or been killed in the ensuing battle.

She tugged at the hem of her gown, feeling uncomfortable in the ill fitting and worn fabric, made for a woman far younger than she. Cersei had gotten great pleasure out of seeing her wear the gown, knowing the she-wolf’s beauty was disguised by the old dress.

“Lady Sansa.” A voice called.

A look of confusion flickered over Sansa’s face. She wondered who had called her such a thing, the title not having been used in the years after Eddard Stark’s death. She turned, feeling her jaw fall slack upon its own accord.

A smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. She could feel her eyes prickle with tears she tried to hold at bay as she watched him come forward. “I…” she began, her voice cracking. “You came back.”

Even bloodstained and fatigued, his eye crusted in blood and flowering with a dark bruise, Jon smiled at her. He nodded and reached behind his back to offer something to her.

The stinging of her eyes grew even more as she saw a bushel of blue winter roses in his gloved hands, their petals bruised and stems limp. He grinned, his eyes dancing with the reflection of the fires that burned to celebrate the Dragon Queen’s victory. “I promised, didn’t I?” said he, smiling as she took the flowers from him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

She was engulfed in his arms in a matter of moments, caring little for the blood and sinew that had spilled down the front of his jerkin. Sansa could feel his heart hammering against her, his arms tightening around her middle, pulling her as close as he was able without uniting their bodies into one.

Jon pressed a kiss to the top of her head, humming softly to her, “I told you I would always come back for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!! I finally managed to write a short fic for once


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